The  Sphinx 

and  Other  Poems 

William  Henry  Hudson 


THE  JAMES  K.   MOFFITT  FUND. 

LIBRARY  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT  OF 

JAMES  KENNEDY  MOFFITT 

OF  THE  CLASS  OF  '86. 


,  189     . 
Accession  No.      82594     class  No.     9&5L 

HSffe 


THE   SPHINX 

AND   OTHER 
POEMS 


THE    SPHINX 

AND    OTHER 
POEMS 


BY 
WILLIAM  HENRY  HUDSON 


ELDER  &  SHEPARD 

SAN  FRANCISCO 

1900 


Copyright,  IQOO,  by 
William  Henry  Hudson 


Edition  limited  to  joo  copies 
printed  from  type 
and  type  distributed 


The  Murdoch  Press 


TO    MY   WIFE 

BORN  OF  THE  HEART,  TO  WHOM  SHOULD  IT  BELONG, 

MY  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  SONG, 
SAVE  UNTO  HER  WHO  HOLDS  MY  HEART  IN  FEE  ? 

POOR  THOUGH  THE  GIFT  MAY  BE, 
THE  GIVER,  TOO,  IS  THINE.        LOVE,  FOR  LOVE*S  SAKE, 

THIS  SLENDER  OFFERING  TAKE ! 


•WHTI 

82594 


Contents 


DEDICATION  *gt    5 

THE    SPHINX  I  I 

ACHIEVEMENT  1  5 

IN    THE    PLAZA,    SANTA  BARBARA                                           1  6 

OUTLOOK  1  8 

ORACLES  2O 

THE    QUEST  22 

LIMITATIONS  30 

A    CONTRAST  3! 

BY    THE    SHORE  32 

THE    LAND    BEYOND    THE    WEST  33 

UNAWARES  3  5 

METHUSELAH  40 

THRENODY  4.2 

APPEARANCES  44 

THE    BROTHERS  45 
QUATRAINS 

THE    PLAY  55 

BREEZE  AND  GALE  55 

LANCELOT  AND  ELAINE  55 

THE  BUILDING  55 

PAST  AND  PRESENT  56 

MARY'S  CRY  56 

TO  TENNYSON  56 

56 


Contents     QUATRAINS 

REALISM  Page  57 

TO    ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON  57 

IRONY  57 

"THE    COMPLEAT    ANGLER"  57 

THE    LIFTED    VEIL  58 

AT    EARLY    MORN  58 

TO    A    SCIENTIFIC    FRIEND  58 

CRISIS  58 

THE    SEPULCHRE  59 

FROM    THE    SABINE    FARM  59 

CARPE    DIEM  59 


The  Sphinx 
and  other 
Poems 


THE   SPHINX 

V     -,   ' 
HAD  a  dream  in  the  night. 


I 


Waking,  how  strange  it  seem'd! 
If  I  recall  it  aright, 

This  is  the  dream  I  dream*  d. 


I  know  not  how  or  why, 

But  I  walk'd  in  the  desert  alone; 
And  ever  the  wind  went  by 

With  a  moan  like  a  human  moan. 

Darkness  hung  o'er  the  world, 

Only  I  noticed  soon 
A  banner  of  cloud  unfurl*  d 

Over  a  phantom  moon. 

And  I  wist  not  whence  I  came, 
Nor  whither  my  footsteps  sped, 

In  that  land  without  a  name, 
That  country  of  the  dead. 

Then,  sudden,  a  moonbeam  burst 

Over  the  dismal  place, 
And  I  saw,  as  one  accurs'd, 

The  Sphinx's  great  stone  face; 

Where  cold,  austere,  sublime, 

Since  first  the  ages  ran, 
She  watches  the  flight  of  time 

And  the  tragedy  of  man. 


The  Sphinx  Then  by  quick  impulse  quell' d, 

I  fell  upon  the  sands, 
And  high  in  the  dark  upheld 

My  clasp' d  beseeching  hands  :  — 

"Goddess!  lone,  sedate, 

Of  the  calm,  remorseless  eye, 

Crown' d  Queen  of  mortal  fate 
Till  the  last  of  things  shall  die ! 

"Darkness  engirts  thy  throne; 

Silence  keeps  ward  the  while. — 
Is  that,  on  thy  lips  of  stone, 

The  flicker  of  a  smile  ? 

"Dumb,  while  the  long  years  speed  - 
Dumb,  while  the  ages  go, 

Thy  riddle  still  to  read, 
Thy  secret  still  to  know. 

"  Shall  the  prayers  of  men  be  vain  ? 

As  naught  shall  their  pleadings  be  ? 
Struggle  of  heart  and  brain, 

And  speechless  agony  ? 

"  Pity  our  mortal  state, 

By  ceaseless  longings  stirr'd! 

See  how  we  stand  and  wait 

For  the  voice  that  is  not  heard. 


12 


"  Listen  to  this  my  cry,  The  Sphinx 

Which  the  empty  silence  drinks;  — 
O  whence,  and  whither,  and  why  ?  — 

Listen,  and  answer,  Sphinx!" 

Was  that  a  voice  from  the  sands 

That  leagues  about  me  spread  ? 
From  the  dim  untrodden  lands 

Of  the  unborn  and  the  dead  ? 

Did  it  out  of  the  earth  arise 

From  the  charnels  and  the  shrouds  ? 
Did  it  drop  from  the  heavy  skies 

With  the  moonbeams  through  the  clouds  ? 

'T  was  the  Sphinx  herself  that  spoke; 

I  knew  her  voice  full  well; 
And  with  her  words  she  broke 

The  immemorial  spell :  — 

"  Would' st  thou  seek  the  veil  to  rend 

From  the  uttermost  sense  of  things  ? 
Would' st  thou  know  the  beginning  and  end? 

Sources  and  hidden  springs  ? 

«' Would'  st  thou  con  the  cryptic  lore 

Of  the  unturn'd  page  of  life  ? 
Would' st  thou  pierce  to  the  central  core 

Of  the  passion  and  the  strife  ? 


Thf  Sphinx  «<  O,  wise  in  thine  own  conceit, 

Who  think' st  there  is  aught  to  find! 
Behold,  the  ways  of  thy  feet 

Are  but  as  the  ways  of  the  wind! 

"For  beyond  the  limits  of  space, 
What  is  there,  but  space  again  ? 

Look  well  upon  my  face! 

Dost  thou  ask,  'Shall  my  prayers  be  vain  ? ' 

"From  the  silence  that  I  hold 
Thou  would* st  my  meaning  tear? 

My  riddle  would*  st  unfold, 
And  lay  my  secret  bare  ? 

••  Fool!  thrice  fool  indeed! 

Back  to  thy  folly  go! 
Riddle  ?  —  There's  none  to  read! 

Secret  ?  —  There's  none  to  know ! ' ' 

She  ceased;  and  a  vapour  curl'd 
Over  the  face  of  the  sky; 

And  behold  —  no  Sphinx  —  no  world  — 
Nothing  —  not  even  I! 

If  I  recall  it  aright, 

This  is  the  dream  I  dream' d. 

It  did  not  seem  strange  in  the  night. 
Waking,  how  strange  it  seemed! 


ACHIEVEMENT 

I  TOIL' D  all  day  in  sun  and  shade, 
Through  the  long  hours  I  toil'd  and  wrought; 
And  when  the  day  was  done,  I  thought 
Of  patience  shown,  of  progress  made. 
It  filTd  my  heart  with  high  content 
To  measure  my  accomplishment. 

I  stood  beneath  the  starry  sky; 

I  felt  the  hush'd  night's  cooling  balm. 

There  spoke  a  voice  across  the  calm 

In  accents  of  eternity. 

"  O  fool!" — I  thought  I  heard  it  say — 

«'  What  is  it  thou  hast  done  to-day  ?  " 


IN    THE    PLAZA,  SANTA    BARBARA 

WAS  ever  day  more  heavenly-fair  than  this  ? 
More  perfect  in  the  subtly-woven  charm 
Of  gracious  beauty  ?    Blue,  without  a  cloud, 
The  sky  o'erspans  the  blue  unruffled  sea; 
The  long  line  of  the  mountains  melts  away 
Into  the  haze,  as  dreams  will  merge  in  dreams; 
And  the  breeze  comes  in  little  tender  puffs, 
Balmy,  and  soft,  and  sweet,  as  if  it  blew 
From  lotus-islands  in  far  summer  seas. 

Surely,  for  once,  the  stormiest  heart  might  find 
Rest;  the  sick  brain  surcease  of  all  its  woes. 
Surely,  for  once,  I  too  might  be  content 
To  live  to-day  just  for  the  day  itself; 
Bask  in  this  sun,  breathe  deep  this  genial  air, 
Drink  to  my  fill  of  mountain,  sky,  and  sea, 
Asking  no  questions,  seeking  naught  beyond 
This  scene,  this  hour,  this  present  and  its  bliss; 
Else  Paradise  itself  must  prove  a  snare, 
And  mock  us  with  possession! 

Yet,  'tis  strange: — 

As  my  eye  wanders  round  the  coast,  and  dwells 
On  Santa  Rosa,  blue  against  the  blue, 
Mountain  and  sky  and  sea  no  more  belong 
To  this,  my  actual  world,  but  shape  themselves 
Into  the  vision  of  another  day 
Divine  as  this,  by  fair  Sorrento's  shore; 
And,  in  a  trance  of  memory,  I  o'erlive 


16 


Those  dreamy  hours  beside  the  storied  bay  In  the  Plaza 

O'er  which,  as  sentinel,  Vesuvius  Santa 

Keeps  watch  and  ward.    Thus  does  the  present  call 

The  dead  past  into  life  again,  and  blend 

Its  deepest  pleasure  with  the  poignant  sense 

Of  other  happiness  in  vanish' d  years. 

And  stranger  still,  the  charm  dissolves,  to  bring 

Only  another  stirring  of  the  heart 

Like  that  I  knew  in  boyhood;   and,  behold! 

Sky,  sea,  and  mountain  shape  themselves  anew; 

And  now  I  loiter  on  untrodden  strands 

And  hear  the  wash  of  undiscover'd  seas! 

O  Life,  Life,  Life !    Must  it  be  always  thus  ? 

Will  not  the  hour  that  is  ever  suffice  ? 

Will  not  its  beauty  ever  satisfy 

The  hunger  and  the  thirsting  of  the  soul  ? 

And  must  the  best  and  sweetest  touch  of  all  — 

The  finest  essence  of  felicity  — 

The  inner  thrill  which  lifts  the  earthly  mood 

To  kinship  with  a  joy  beyond  itself — 

Be  half  regret  for  that  which  is  no  more, 

Half  yearning  for  the  things  which  may  not  be  ? 

O  Life,  Life,  Life !  must  it  be  always  thus  ? 

-        ^        • 

0»  TH* 

VERSITY 


OUTLOOK 

PERCH' D  high,  with  narrow  walls  to  hem  me  in, 
Amid  the  city's  din, 
I  often  study  with  attentive  eye 
Yon  little  patch  of  sky. 

My  little  patch  of  sky  I  call  the  same, 

And  do  not  count  it  blame; 
Others  may  have  the  wide-spread  firmament, 

And  therewith  discontent. 

But  this  one  bit  of  heaven,  this  glimpse  divine, 

Is  now  and  always  mine; 
By  day  my  solace,  and  when  day  is  done 

My  nightly  benison. 

For  every  time  I  lift  my  head,  it  brings 

Whispers  of  far-off  things, 
And  a  great  flood  of  joy  that  passes  ken 

Fills  my  whole  being  then. 

When  all  is  blue  in  my  small  patch,  I  say 

It  will  be  fair  to-day; 
When  the  clouds  gather  o'er  its  face  again 

I  dread  the  coming  rain. 

And  sometimes  in  the  watches  of  the  night 

The  slow  stars  wheel  in  sight; 
Or  the  round  moon,  as  in  the  Wonderbook, 

Pauses  awhile  to  look. 

18 


I  do  not  miss  the  great  world's  pageantry  Outlook 

Of  forest,  field,  and  sea, 
While  I  can  have  to  love  and  live  with,  my 

Own  little  patch  of  sky. 


ORACLES 


I  TAKE  my  question  to  the  sea, 
And  ask  it  there. 
The  loud  waves  echo  fitfully 
My  own  despair. 

The  deep  voice  of  the  forest  swells 

In  thunder-tone. 
Alas,  the  story  that  it  tells 

Is  but  my  own! 

I  sound  the  silent  midnight  sky, 

And,  wearying  not, 
I  wait  expectant  for  reply. 

It  answers  —  what  ? 

Methinks,  the  oracles  give  word 

To  my  demand. 
Their  speech  I  strive  in  vain,  though  heard, 

To  understand. 

What  boots  the  message  or  the  voice, 

The  secret  wrung  ? 
While  the  dark  Priestess  still  employs 

An  unknown  tongue  ? 

Could  I  but  turn  to  mine  own  heart, 

And  find  some  key 
To  help  me  to  spell  out  in  part 

The  mystery! 


20 


But  can  I  trust  it  as  I  would  Oracles 

With  truth  to  bless  ? 
Will  it  translate  in  certitude  ? 

Or  only  guess  ? 

Ah,  I  have  known  the  hour  benign 

Of  inward  rest, 
When  something  spoke  with  voice  divine 

Within  the  breast. 

And  when  I  bent  the  listening  ear, 

'Twas  not  in  vain; 
The  accents  were  familiar, 

The  meaning  plain. 

Then,  oh  the  thrill  of  joy  that  leapt 

Along  the  sea! 
A  solemn  song  of  gladness  swept 

From  tree  to  tree! 

The  night  was  beautiful  above 

As  ne'er  before! 
I  thought  the  oracles  said  "Love"; 

And  ask'd  no  more. 


21 


THE   QUEST 

I 

IT  was  a  vision  —  nay,  no  idle  dream 
Which,  bubble-like,  breaks  ere  the  break  of  dawn, 
To  be  henceforth  forgotten:  —  no  wild  dream, 
But  a  celestial  vision  and  a  sign. 
That  bending  face  was  soft  and  beautiful 
Even  beyond  a  youth's  imaginings 
Of  soft  and  beautiful  in  womanhood. 
And  in  those  wistful  eyes  there  lay  the  light 
Of  love,  which  asks  only  for  love's  return. 

When  he  awoke,  alas!  the  vision,  fled, 

Left  naught  to  his  embrace  but  empty  air. 

Yet  memory  held  the  magic  of  her  words :  — 

"  Lo,  in  a  dream  I  come  to  proffer  thee 

My  love,  and  as  a  dream,  I  fade  away. 

But  be  thou  worthy  of  my  proffer  'd  love, 

And  thou  shalt  find  me  no  light  thing  of  dreams, 

No  unsubstantial  figment  of  the  brain 

By  fancy  bred  beneath  the  lids  of  sleep. 

Dost  thou  love  me  ?  —  I  may  be  woo'  d  and  won ! 

Follow  and  seek !    Find  me,  and  I  am  thine ! ' ' 

As  one  who  walks  a  city  street  at  noon, 

And,  'mid  the  rush  and  din  of  busy  life, 

Is  haunted  by  a  snatch  of  melody 

Heard  when  and  where  he  knows  not,  but  which 

brings 
A  far-off  hint  of  sunshine  and  the  fields; 


22 


So  was  the  youth  haunted  by  those  sweet  words        The  Quest 

When  daylight  snapt  the  visionary  spell. 

"  Follow  and  seek!  Find  me,  and  I  am  thine!  " 

O  promise  of  an  unsuspected  bliss! 

No  marvel  that  his  heart  was  stirr'd,  his  blood 

Set  all  a-flame;  that  the  world's  common  things 

Look'd,  by  the  contrast  of  that  radiant  face, 

The  light  of  love  deep  in  those  wistful  eyes, 

Beyond  their  wont  tawdry  and  mean  and  dull! 

Awhile  he  walk'd  as  though  on  summer  air, 

Buoy'd  by  the  thought  of  his  high  destiny, 

The  love  he  was  appointed  to  requite, 

And  her,  who  to  himself  herself  had  given 

For  seeking  and  for  finding.      Then,  alas! 

The  chill  of  doubt  shot  sudden  through  his  veins, 

And  blank  despair  usurp' d  the  place  of  joy. 

"  Follow  and  seek!    Find  me,  and  I  am  thine!  " 

O  fair  delusive  hope — encouragement 

With  bitter  disappointment  fraught,  and  pain 

Of  ail-too  certain  failure!  Seek  and  find  ? 

What  empty  words  were  these,  which  gave  no  clue, 

And  left  the  wide  world  open!    Had  she  told 

Her  dwelling-place  —  had  she  but  riddle- wise, 

By  mystic  hint  or  half-breathed  syllable, 

Pointed  the  way  by  which  the  quest  were  won — 

He  had  not  falter' d.      His  the  quest  had  been, 

Yea,  though  to  reach  her  he  were  forced  to  pass 

Through  fire  and  storm,  o'er  mountains  lock'd  in 

snow, 
Across  unmeasured  seas  and  trackless  sands. 


The  Quest     But  who  shall  answer  to  a  phantom  voice 

That  calls  to  us  we  know  not  whence  ?  or  heed 
The  uncertain  beckoning  of  a  ghostly  hand 
That  leaves  us  doubting  to  which  side  to  turn  ? 

So  by  the  sweet  face  haunted  still,  his  ears 
Still  by  the  music  of  the  voice  caress' d, 
The  youth  was  torn  by  strife  within  himself; 
And  for  a  while,  a  traitor  to  his  hopes, 
Letting  the  fear  of  failure,  and  weak  sloth, 
And  nerveless  apathy  o'ermaster  him, 
He  shut  the  vision  from  him,  and  crush' d  down 
The  promptings  it  had  stirr'd  within  his  soul. 
What  folly  to  give  thought  to  that  which  still 
For  all  its  beauty  was  but  a  mere  dream ! 
Should  he  for  this  wear  out  his  fresh  young  life, 
Torture  himself  with  unavailing  toils, 
And  like  a  starveling  simpleton  forego 
Delight  of  youth,  and  genial  fellowship, 
Ease,  and  the  'tender  love  of  other  maids  ? 
What  warrant  had  he  that,  if  dreams  spake  true, 
The  quest  achiev'd  should  crown  the  sacrifice  ? 
Life  must  not  wait  on  dreams.    So  Reason  spake, 
Or  what  seem'd  Reason;  and  the  youth  lent  ear. 
But  only  for  a  time.      One  wistful  face 
Came  back  to  him  in  all  its  loveliness 
By  night  and  day;  one  low,  appealing  voice 
By  night  and  day  set  all  his  soul  a-thrill  — 
"  Follow  and  seek!    Find  me,  and  I  am  thine!  " 
And  at  the  last  he  yielded  to  the  charm. 
Courage  was  his,  and  the  high  faith  of  youth 


24 


That  though  to  fail  were  easy,  and  to  win  The  Quest 

Well-nigh  impossible,  he  would  not  fail, 

But  win.      And  in  this  ardent  mood  he  rose; 

Made  ready  for  the  difficult  emprise; 

Threw  one  last  look  towards  his  childhood's  home, 

Bidding  in  thought  farewell  to  all  the  joys 

Of  hearth  and  field,  to  boon  companions, 

And  maidens  who  had  woo'd  him  with  their  smiles; 

And  thus  self-consecrated  to  the  pure 

Sweet  service  of  a  visionary  love, 

Went  forth  undaunted  on  his  lonely  way. 

II 

So  the  long  years  went  by,  and  with  them  brought 
What  the  long  years  bring  ever — joy  and  pain; 
Life,  Death;  the  growing  cold  of  many  fires; 
Hopes,  and  the  fading  out  of  many  hopes; 
Tears,  and  the  drying  up  of  many  tears. 

So  the  long  years  went  by;  with  sowing-time 
And  harvest;  and  the  men  who  sow'd  and  reap'd 
In  turn  were  reap'd,  and  others  till'd  their  fields. 
But  for  the  youth  who  set  him  forth  that  day 
On  his  high  quest  —  him  brought  they  not  again ; 
And  his  familiar  place  knew  him  no  more 
Whether  by  summer  brook  or  winter  hearth. 
Though  old  men  fumbling  in  their  memories  woke 
At  times  some  dim  remembrance  of  his  name, 
.Each  asking  each — "Who  was  he  ?  Dost  thou  mind 
His  face  or  stature  ?    Wherefore  went  he  forth  ? 


The  Quest       And  what  to  find  ?"    One  after  one  were  these 
Gathered  to  rest.      So  dull  oblivion  grew, 
Like  moss  about  the  headstone  of  a  grave, 
Blotting  all  record  of  his  name  and  life. 

At  last,  one  autumn  eve,  when  the  huge  sun, 
Fierce  red  athwart  the  smoke  of  burning  leaves, 
Hung  for  a  moment  o'er  the  western  hills, 
And  in  strong  flight  the  clamorous  rooks  wheel' d 

home; 

Came  from  the  world  beyond  those  western  hills 
A  bow'd  and  white-hair' d  man,  for  whom  henceforth 
Life  could  hold  naught  but  death.      With  tottering 

steps 

And  frequent  pause,  he  crept  along  the  way 
That  downward  to  the  hamlet  led;  and  there, 
Upon  a  settle  'neath  the  churchyard  yew, 
With  deep-drawn  sigh  he  sank,  as  one  who  knows 
The  term  is  reach' d  of  his  long  pilgrimage. 

The  children  play'd  near  by,  and  heeded  not 
The  stranger's  coming;  for  he  mov'd  by  stealth 
And  spake  not,  watching  them  —  the  children,  they, 
Of  unborn  children  in  that  shadowy  past 
Far-off,  when  he  had  romp'd,  as  now  they  rompM, 
In  guileless  sport  among  their  fathers'  graves. 
Then  the  slow  twilight  gather' d  close  about  him; 
The  bell  toll'd  curfew;  the  loud  laughter  ceas'd; 
And  he  was  left  alone. 


26 


Was  this  the  end  ?  The  Quest 

The  sum  of  all  the  heart-ache  and  the  toil, 
Passionate  strivings,  faintings  by  the  way, 
Hopes  sown  at  random  on  each  passing  wind, 
Laborious  days,  and  nights  devoid  of  ease  ? 
In  the  extremity  of  that  sad  hour 
He  saw  the  grim  vast  folly  of  his  life, 
The  mad  delusion  that  had  wreck' d  it  all, 
When  he  had  taken  as  a  thing  divine 
The  phantom  of  a  boy's  disorder' d  brain 
Love-sick  for  idleness  and  vague  desire. 
O  fool !  —  to  chase  a  shadow,  but  to  win 
Only  a  fool's  well-merited  reward  — 
That  wisdom  of  experience  which  comes 
Too  late  to  be  of  service,  and  condemns 
When  it  is  impotent  to  guide.  —  Fool !  Fool ! 

One  purpose  still  he  cherish' d —  to  lie  down 
Beneath  the  roof  where  first  the  vision  came, 
And  there,  amid  a  thousand  memories 
That  even  in  the  fierceness  of  his  heart 
He  held  for  dear,  await  that  blessed  hour 
Which  soon  must  bring  what  now  alone  he  crav'd — 
Death  and  the  peace  thereof.      He  rose.      The  sky 
Throbb'd  with  unnumber' d  stars.    The  hamlet  slept 
About  him,  as  he  stole,  poor  weary  ghost! 
Through  the  familiar  ways.      And  now  he  reach' d 
The  cottage  of  his  youth;  with  trembling  hand 
Push'd  wide  the  door,  and  enter' d.     All  was  dark, 
Save  that  upon  the  hearth  a  tiny  fire 
Burn'd  red.      And,  lo!  beside  the  tiny  fire 


27 


The  Quest      There  sat  a  woman  crouch' d.      His  failing  heart 
Gave  one  wild  leap.     Slowly  she  rais'd  her  head. 
No  phantom,  she,  no  shadow;  but  as  fair, 
As  young  and  fair  as  when,  in  dreams,  she  came 
To  bid  him  seek  her,  aye,  and  finding,  win. 
For  that  dear  face  was  soft  and  beautiful 
Beyond  an  old  man's  fondest  memory 
Of  soft  and  beautiful  in  womanhood. 
And  in  those  wistful  eyes  still  lay  the  light 
Of  love,  which  asks  only  for  love's  return. 

"I  have  search' d  for  thee  through  the  wide  world," 

he  said; 

"I  have  given  my  life  in  quest  of  thee.      Behold, 
Now  that  my  strength  is  spent,  and  death  is  near, 
Hither  I  come  to  lay  my  bones  in  peace 
Where  once  was  home.      This  much  is  left  —  no 

more. 

Where  hast  thou  been  that  I  have  found  thee  not  ? 
And  wherefore  did'st  thou  come  to  me,  and  stir 
My  longing  for  thee  with  delusive  hopes, 
That  in  the  hour  of  frenzy,  heeding  thee, 
Believing  in  thy  promise  and  thy  faith, 
I  set  my  face  towards  thee,  and  my  back 
To  all  that  in  the  day  of  budding  youth 
Life  has  to  offer  ?     Pleasant  then  was  life, 
And  rich  its  prizes.      These  I  held  as  naught 
For  thee,  O  fickle  and  heartless  one!  and  thou 
Hast  made  of  me  thy  dupe  !  " 


28 


In  bitterness  The  Quest 

He  spake;  and  sadly  did  she  make  reply: — 
"Why  did'st  thou  then  go  forth  in  quest  of  me  ? 
By  thine  own  hearth,  year  after  year,  have  I 
Waited  for  thee;  and  still  thou  did'st  not  come  — 
By    thine    own   hearth  waited    and  watch*  d;   and 

mused 

In  the  long  vigils,  «Nay,  he  will  return 
And  find  me  here,  and  I  will  welcome  him, 
And  evermore  our  lives  shall  be  as  one.'  ' 

He  bow'd  his  head  in  speechless  agony 
Awhile.      Then  sudden,  his  thin  arms  outstretch' d, 
He  stagger' d  towards  her,  with  a  feverish  gleam 
Flashing  from  his  dim  eyes.     "But  thou  art  mine, 
Now,  at  the  last,"  he  cried.     "Mock  me  no  more! 
The  quest  is  won!    I  have  found  thee!  Thou  art 
mine!" 

"  Too  late,"   she  said.      She  spake  as  in  reproof, 
Yet  pity  fill'd  her  voice  with  tenderness; 
"Too   late!    Too  late!"  —  and    faded    from    his 
sight. 

And  by  the  lonely  hearth  he  sat,  and  wept. 


LIMITATIONS 

COULD  we  grasp  Life  in  all  its  stark  and  stern 
Reality, 

How  could  we  live  ?    Or,  living,  whither  turn 
For  remedy  ? 

Not  to  ourselves  dare  we  in  silence  breathe 

What  things  are  done, 
Making  each  day's  dark  history,  beneath 

The  punctual  sun! 

'Tis  well  we  cannot  see  them  all-compact, 

Or  we  might  fall, 
Brain-dazed,  heart-sick,  before  the  awful  Fact, 

Blaspheming  all 

That   Love   has  dream' d  of  Faith,    and  Faith  has 
sought 

In  Love  to  find. 
So  were  the  larger  vision  dearly  bought! 

The  gods  are  kind. 

They  laid  their  limits  on  our  mortal  powers; 

And,  this  confess' d, 
To  live  our  life  as  best  we  may  is  ours — 

Be  theirs  the  rest! 


30 


A   CONTRAST 

BELOW — the  midnight   street,  and  two   who 
pass'd, 

Holding  high  talk  of  life  and  destiny. 
— "Ay,  though  a  million  years  be  yet  to  run, 
At  length  must  sound  the  hour  of  final  doom, 
When  the  great  sun,  and  all  its  circling  worlds, 
And  all  their  myriad  life,  shall  sink  in  night 
Utter,  eternal!  —  Lo,  what  then  are  we — 
The  petty  braggarts  of  a  fleeting  day  — 
But  insects  crawling  on  an  orange-rind; 
Who  hug  the  childish  fancy  that  there  dwells 
Somewhere  beyond  this  flux  of  mortal  things, 
This  ceaseless,  sweeping  tide  of  cosmic  fate, 
One  who  still  heeds  the  cry  of  breaking  hearts 
And  knows  or  cares  whether  we  live  or  die ! " 

Above  —  a  woman  in  a  squalid  room 
Watching  with  hard-drawn  lips  and  tearless  eyes 
The  dead  face  of  her  only  child:  the  hush 
Unbroken  save  by  sound  of  lingering  steps 
And  voices  in  the  street  of  two  who  pass'd 
Holding  high  talk  of  life  and  destiny. 
Till  the  wild  grief  no  longer  might  be  pent; 
And,  sinking  by  the  bed,  she  clasp' d  her  hands 
In  frenzied  gesture,  moaning — "O  my  God!" 


BY   THE   SHORE 

WAS  it  a  dream?    Did  frolic  fancy  play 
An  idle  trick  upon  my  soul  that  day  ? 

In  the  rapt  stillness  of  the  eventide, 
Methought  I  heard — surely,  I  seem'd  to  hear, 
Held  for  a  moment  in  the  spirit's  ear, 
Now  hush'd — now  rising  to  a  swell  once  more— 
The  lap  of  waters  on  some  unknown  shore 
Upon  the  further  side. 

Was  it  a  dream  ?  —  I  know  not.     This  I  know — 

The  memory  of  that  evening  long  ago, 

Though  oftentimes  I  since  have  sought  in  vain 

To  catch  that  wind-borne  melody  again, 

Has  lingered  in  my  life,  a  sacred  part 

Of  all  my  deepest  being;  for  to  me, 

With  some  strange  hint  of  some  strange  mystery, 

That  murmur  brought  a  solace  for  the  heart 

An  inward  sense  that  everything  was  well, 

A  touch  of  peace,  of  which  no  words  can  tell! 

What  secret  doth  the  ocean  hold  in  store 
Beyond  its  vast  horizons,  evermore  ? 
Friend!  In  the  silence  bend  thou  too  thine  ear, 
Listen  and  wait;  if  haply  thou  may'st  hear 
That  music  to  the  noisier  hour  denied — 
The  lap  of  waters  on  some  unknown  shore 
Upon  the  further  side! 


THE  LAND  BEYOND  THE  WEST 

AT  sunset  hour  I  turn  my  eyes 
In  wonder  to  the  western  skies;  — 
Behold,  at  some  magician's  touch 
The  visionary  splendours  rise! 

Sometimes  I  see  a  city  set 

With  tapering  tower  and  minaret; 

Its  streets  are  rich  with  glories,  such 
As  earthly  city  knows  not  yet. 

And  sometimes,  lo,  a  mystic  sea, 
Whereon  no  sail  shall  ever  be; 

Over  whose  lambent  waters  rests 
The  silence  of  eternity; 

Or  land  of  far  untrodden  steeps 

And  rolling  downs,  and  crevass'd  deeps, 

And  hills  upon  whose  summit-crests 
A  peace,  we  do  not  wot  of,  sleeps. 

O  magic  dream !  O  thing  divine ! 
Stay,  that  I  may  but  call  thee  mine! 

Or  leave  me  some  memorial 
To  cherish  as  a  heavenly  sign ! 

But  from  the  Night's  unmeasur'd  shore 
The  ancient  darkness  surges  o'er; 

The  west  is  cover' d  with  a  pall, 
The  airy  landscape  is  no  more! 


33 


The  Land  Yet  still,  as  one  by  duty  press' d, 

T°  that  far  land  bGy°"d  the  West 
Daily  I  fare  —  and  presently 

Will  come  the  ending  of  my  quest. 

I  wonder  will  the  vision  stay 
Then,  or  for  ever  fade  away  ? 

Mine  shall  that  world  of  glory  be, 
Or  empty  darkness  ?  — Who  shall  say  ? 


34 


UNAWARES 

IN  days  of  old,  as  legends  tell  — 
For  heaven  and  earth  were  nearer  then  - 
The  gods  would  sometimes  come  to  dwell 
A  while  with  mortal  men. 

Unknown  they  mov'd,  in  simple  guise, 
And  mingled  in  the  game  of  life; 

Yet  watch' d  with  unimpassion' d  eyes 
The  tumult  and  the  strife. 

Save  when  one  came  to  know  in  part, 
Through  love,  what  love  hath  aye  for  gain- 

The  hunger  of  the  human  heart, 
The  passion  and  the  pain. 

Then  in  celestial  eyes  awoke 

A  yearning  not  of  heavenly  birth; 

Serene,  immortal  beauty  took 
The  tenderness  of  earth. 

Fair  was  the  maid,  with  eyes  that  gleam' d 
Half-bashful  through  a  mist  of  tears  — 

A  simple  maid,  and  one  who  seem'd 
More  lovely  for  her  fears. 

The  light  wind  whisper' d  soft  and  sweet 

Amid  the  glory  of  her  hair; 
The  fretted  sunbeams  kiss'd  her  feet 

As  she  stood  trembling  there. 

35 


Unawares  And  the  young  shepherd,  half-reclined 

Among  the  shadows  cool  and  deep, 
Woke  from  his  noontide  dream  to  find 
Something  more  fair  than  sleep. 

Then,  while  he  waited,  all-afraid 

Lest  with  a  breath  the  spell  might  fail, 

In  artless  speech  the  tender  maid 
Told  all  her  artless  tale. 

A  simple  girl;  but  one  whose  charms 
Tempted  a  lawless  robber-king, 

Who  bore  her  from  her  father's  arms 
Last  night,  a  helpless  thing. 

But  she,  amid  the  drunken  feast, 
Had  haply  fled,  and  all  that  morn 

Had  wander' d,  fearing  man  and  beast, 
A  creature  all  forlorn. 

And  now  she  wept  that  nevermore, 
Since  all  her  prayers  had  been  in  vain, 

She  thought  to  find  her  father's  door 
Or  touch  his  hand  again. 

While  thus  she  begg'd  his  speedy  grace, 
The  shepherd,  half-reclining  there, 

Look'd  silent  on  the  blushing  face, 
And  found  it  wondrous  fair. 


So,  when  he  spake,  no  words  were  his  Unawares 

Of  proffer' d  help  in  all  she  pray'd. 
The  burden  of  his  tale  was  this  — 

He  lov'd  the  simple  maid. 

Kneeling,  he  press' d  her  yielding  hand, 

And,  passionate,  urged  the  sudden  whim — 

Could  she  forget  her  father's  land 
And  linger  there  with  him  ? 

And  wherefore  not  ?    For  love  is  sweet, 

And  vainly  do  we  say  him  nay. 
And  wherefore  not  ?    For  youth  is  fleet, 

And  beauty  dies  away. 

His  words  were  sweet;  his  voice  was  mild; 

His  form  a  form  of  manly  strength. 
The  simple  maiden  blushing  smiPd, 

And  yielded  all  at  length. 

For  love  hath  power  o'er  kindred  hearts, 

And  doth  not  urge  his  suit  in  vain. 
And  wherefore  not  ?    For  youth  departs, 

And  comes  not  back  again. 


Next  morning,  ere  the  breaking  day 
Had  marr'd  the  dreaming  boy's  repose, 

Silent  she  mov'd  from  where  he  lay, 
And  from  the  sward  arose. 


37 


Unawares  Then  strangely  pass'd  her  simple  mien; 

The  yearning  in  her  eyes  grew  deep. 
She  stood  and  watch' d,  a  goddess-queen, 
Her  mortal  lover's  sleep. 

And  smiling  lay  the  happy  boy, 

While  whispering  branches  told  above 

Of  all  the  tenderness  and  joy 

That  Spring  from  twin-born  love. 

Alas!  that  youth's  first  dream  must  fade, 
Leaving  a  pang  unfelt  before. 

Starting,  he  found  the  simple  maid 
A  simple  maid  no  more. 

But  in  her  stead,  a  goddess  proud, 
Celestial-fair  in  matchless  grace, 

With  something  of  a  sorrow's  cloud 
About  her  bending  face. 

Then,  while  the  poor  lad's  trembling  lips 
Some  word  of  fitting  homage  sought, 

Gently  she  kiss'd  her  finger-tips, 
And  vanish' d  into  naught. 


So  the  young  shepherd  went  his  way, 
Nor  ever  told,  by  word  or  sign, 

How  by  a  simple  maid  he  lay, 
And  tasted  love  divine. 


And  as  for  her,  who  learn' d  in  part,  Unawares 

Through  love,  what  love  hath  aye  for  gain — 

The  hunger  of  the  human  heart, 
The  passion  and  the  pain, 

In  her  deep  eyes  that  morn  awoke 

A  yearning  not  of  heavenly  birth, 
And  her  immortal  beauty  took 

The  tenderness  of  earth. 


39 


METHUSELAH 

METHUSELAH,  the  Talmud  says, 
Had  not  yet  reckon*  d  half  his  days, 
When  sitting  once  beneath  his  gourd 
To  shade  him  from  the  noonday's  glare, 
As  in  a  vision  wondrous  fair 
He  saw  an  angel  of  the  Lord. 

"Arise!"   the  angel  cried,  "  O,  now, 

Methuselah,  why  restest  thou  ? 

Build  straight  a  house  for  thine  and  thee; 

Firmly  establish' d  let  it  be; 

See  that  its  well-knit  timbers  hold 

In  summer's  heat  and  winter's  cold; 

See  that  its  walls  resist  all  strain 

Of  beating  sun  or  driving  rain. 

Up,  to  the  labours  of  thy  hands  — 

'Tis  thus,  by  me,  the  Lord  commands!  " 

Methuselah  a  moment  bow'd 
In  silence.      Then  he  spake  aloud: — 
"  First,  will  my  Lord  not  answer  sure 
How  long  my  life  may  still  endure  ? ' ' 

"  Five  hundred  years,  for  good  and  ill, 
The  Lord  thy  God  will  grant  thee  still." 

"  Five  hundred  years!  —  and  then  to  die  ? 
'Twas  thus  the  patriarch  made  reply; 
"Thy  words  are  words  of  mockery. 


40 


'Twere  little  worth  thy  servant's  while  Methuselah 

To  spend  his  strength  and  days  in  toil, 

To  build  a  house  whose  walls  shall  be 

'Stablished  for  all  futurity, 

When  all  that  still  before  him  lies 

Is  summ'd  in  five  short  centuries. 

"  Build  ! — why,  't  were  sheer  insanity 
Thus  to  prepare  for  life,  when  I 
Am  called  upon  so  soon  to  die  ! " 

The  patriarch  spake :  the  angel  sped, 

Nor  on  his  errand  came  again. 

Five  hundred  years  passed  o'er  the  head 

Of  old  Methuselah — in  vain  : 

The  house  unbuilded  did  remain. 

O  Sons  of  mortals,  ponder  well 
The  meaning  of  this  parable  ! 


THRENODY 

Soles  occidere  et  redirc  posiunt. 
Nobit)   quum  simul  occidit  brt-vh  luxt 
Nox  est  pcrpetua  una  dormienda. 

WHAT  matter,  though  behind  yon  distant  hills 
To-night  the  sun  sinks  down  ? 
What  matter  though  the  lengthening  darkness  fills 
The  valley  and  the  town  ? 

Shall  not  the  circling  moments  as  of  yore 

Roll  round,  and  bring  us  soon, 
First  the  gray  light  of  dawn,  and  then  once  more 

The  fulness  of  the  noon  ? 

What  matter,  though  the  winter's  wind  blows  cold, 

And  all  is  nipped  and  bare  ? 
And  not  a  flower  is  over  all  the  wold, 

Nor  bird  along  the  air  ? 

Stern  winter  yet  shall  soften  into  spring 

With  all  its  blithesome  hours, 
And  homing  birds  from  sunny  south-lands  bring 

The  golden  charm  of  flowers. 

Dead  Nature  takes  new  life  upon  the  bier. 

Through  all  her  mighty  range 
Suns  set  and  rise,  and  with  the  changing  year 

The  seasons  merge  and  change. 


For  us,  when  once  the  sun  has  dipp'd  his  head —      Threnody 

The  spring  has  taken  flight  — 
For  us  remains  among  the  dreamless  dead, 

The  long  and  cheerless  night. 


43 


APPEARANCES 

IN  the  city  of  my  dreams, 
Where  at  times  I  dwell  apart, 
Nothing  is,  but  only  seems — 
In  the  city  of  my  dreams. 

And  I  find  them  lovelier  far, 
Deep  within  my  secret  heart, 
Things  that  seem  than  things  that  a 
Yes,  I  find  them  lovelier  far! 

I  am  glad  that  in  my  dreams 
Nothing  is,  but  only  seems ! 


44 


THE    BROTHERS 

I 


WHEN  they  rose  in  the  dawn  from  their 
slumbers, 

They  thrill' d  to  behold 
The  dull  ruddy  hues  of  the  sunrise 
Blaze  forth  into  gold. 

Then  their  faces  they  turn'd  to  the  eastward, 

As  the  glory  grew  bright, 
And  gave  praise  to  the  Sun,  the  great  giver 

Of  life  and  of  light. 

The  morn  set  their  pulses  a-dancing 

As  a  draught  of  new  wine. 
Heroic  the  build  of  their  manhood  — 

Their  beauty,  divine. 

The  youth  in  their  limbs  was  triumphant; 

And,  like  the  clear  skies, 
Serene  and  untroubled  and  cloudless 

The  light  in  their  eyes. 

For  lo,  they  were  happy;  for  was  not 

Their  guerdon  at  birth 
Keen  zest  in  the  life  of  the  senses, 

The  gladness  of  earth  ? 


45 


The  And  the  zest  and  the  gladness  sufficed  them, 

Brothers  Nor  felt  they  for  dole 

The  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  spirit, 
The  pangs  of  the  soul. 


II 


But  that  night  as  they  lay  on  the  hillside, 

To  their  cool  resting-place 
Came  One  in  a  vision,  and  haiPd  them. 

They  knew  not  His  face. 

It  was  ghastly  and  wan  in  the  moonlight, 

And  the  brows  were  all  wet, 
Beneath  the  thorn-circlet  that  bound  them, 

With  blood  and  with  sweat. 

And  when  with  a  gesture  where  pity 

And  pleading  were  blent, 
He  stretch' d  forth  His  hands  to  the  sleepers, 

As  by  nails  they  were  rent. 

Then  the  brothers  were  filPd  with  confusion; 

Their  wonder  wax'd  deep. 
Who  was  He  that  came  thus  in  the  darkness, 

To  trouble  their  sleep  ? 

What  shade  from  the  land  of  dim  shadows  ? 

What  god  from  some  far, 
Strange  barbarous  folk  who  have  dwelling 

Beneath  the  North  Star  ? 


Full  ready  were  they  to  upbraid  Him;  The 

And  sharp  to  the  tongue  Brothers 

Leap'd  the  word  of  an  angry  dismissal. 
But  ere  it  was  flung, 

The  spell  of  the  Presence  o'ercame  them. 

In  that  tremulous  light, 
The  Face,  though  worn  thin  as  with  anguish, 

Though  haggard  and  white, 

Was  fill'd  with  a  tender,  sad  beauty 

Undream' d  of  before. 
And  those  eyes — they  seem'd  half  to  compel  them, 

And  half  to  implore. 

For  wistful  their  gaze,  and  beseeching, 

Yet  searching  their  power 
To  wake  something  within  they  had  felt  not, 

Nor  guess' d  till  that  hour. 

So  He  stood;  and  the  marvel  possess' d  them 

Of  what  was  to  be; 
Till  softly  He  broke  the  dread  stillness:  — 

"Arise!  Follow  me!" 

Then  they  fain  would  have  stay'd  Him,  and  ques- 
tion'd; 

But  durst  not;  and  saw 
How  He  pass'd,  and  was  not.     And  they  trembled 

With  wonder  and  awe! 


47 


The  III 

Brothers 

To  the  vast  silent  sands  of  the  desert 

He  fled,  as  one  flees 
From  the  foot  and  the  knife  of  the  slayer; 

And  there  on  his  knees 

He  wrestled  and  pray'd  in  his  anguish 

Who  never  had  yet 
Known  the  passion  and  pangs  of  the  spirit, 

Its  desire  and  regret. 

And  his  face,  like  the  face  of  the  Master, 

Wax'd  pallid  and  wan; 
And  his  eyes,  which  serene  and  untroubled 

Had  welcom'd  the  dawn, 

Grew  sad  with  a  wistful  dumb  yearning 

Which  never  had  birth 
In  the  keen  joyous  life  of  the  senses, 

The  gladness  of  earth. 

So  he  dwelt  and  he  pray'd  in  the  desert, 

The  elder  of  those 
To  whom  the  strange  Vision  had  spoken 

In  the  night  of  repose. 

Till  at  last  the  long  conflict  was  over, 

And  gently  there  stole 
A  peace  like  the  calm  of  the  evening, 

Bringing  rest  to  his  soul. 


IV  The 

Brothers 

O'er  his  head  pass'd  the  years  unrecorded, 

Till  the  day  he  was  ware 
Of  one  standing  beside  him.      He  shielded 

His  eyes  from  the  glare, 

And  then — "O  my  brother!  my  brother," 

He  cried;   "is  it  thou? 
Where  now  is  thy  lustre  of  manhood  ? 

Its  glory  —  where  now  ? 

"  Oh,  fresh  was  thy  cheek,  and  unsullied, 

Once,  brother !  —  thine  eyes 
Serene  and  untroubled  and  cloudless 

Like  the  clear  summer  skies. 

"  But  now  thou  art  flush* d  like  a  wanton 

Full-drunken  with  wine. 
Thy  glance  is  the  leer  of  the  satyr!  — 

I  knew  thee  divine  — 

"In  thy  youth  and  thy  strength  and  thy  beauty 

I  knew  thee — and  now, 
Thou  art  one  with  the  beasts,  O  my  brother! 

Is  it  thou  ?     Is  it  thou  ? ' ' 

And  loud  laugh*  d  the  youth,  and  his  laughter 

Rang  mirthless  and  shrill. 
"Who  art  thou  to  pass  judgment  upon  me  ? 

I  do  as  I  will! 


49 


"When  He  found    me  —  thy  Master  —  and 
Brothers  hail>d  me> 

I  heard  and  obey'd. 
I  too  fled  afar  to  the  desert; 
I  wrestled  and  pray'd. 

"  For  His  power  was  upon  me,  and  stirr'd  me 

To  torment  within; 
O'er  the  joy  of  my  life  there  had  fallen 

The  shadow  of  sin; 

"  And  I  thirsted,  nor,  thirsting,  knew  whither 

To  turn  in  my  drouth, 
For  the  waters  of  earth  were  as  wormwood 

And  gall  in  my  mouth. 

"  Till  one  day  in  the  midst  of  my  anguish, 

Like  a  blind  man  restor'd, 
I  saw  of  a  sudden  my  folly  — 

I  saw,  and  abhorr'd. 

"And  alone  with  the  sands  of  the  desert 

I  lifted  my  cry :  — 
'  O  Master  of  all  disenchantment ! 

Thy  power  I  defy! 

"  '  By  what  right  on  my  life,  by  what  token, 

Thy  law  dost  Thou  lay  ? 
Are  there  those  who  are  fain  to  obey  Thee  ? — 

Let  such  then  obey! 

50 


"  '  Let  them  learn  of  Thy  lesson  of  sorrow —      The 

Let  them  bow  to  Thy  will!  Brothers 

I  was  Lord  of  my  lot;  and  behold  me 
The  Lord  of  it  still! 

"  '  Thou  hast  conquer 'd  not,  O  Galilean  — 

Thou  hast  conquer' d  not  me! 
From  the  bondage  in  which  Thou  hast  bound  me 

I  shake  myself  free! 

'"I  will  stifle  the  cries  and  the  anguish 

Of  the  soul  in  its  birth! 
I  will  back  to  the  life  of  the  senses  — 

The  gladness  of  earth ! ' 

"  So  I  fled  from  the  desert!  "— "O,  brother/7 

The  elder  made  moan, 
" Did'st  thou  find  the  old  life  that  thou  loved*  st, 

The  joy  thou  hadst  known  ? 

"  For  lo,  thou  art  flush' d  as  a  wanton 

New-drunken  with  wine. 
Where  now  is  thy  glory  of  manhood  ? 

Thy  beauty  divine  ? ' ' 

And  loud  laugh' d  the  youth,  and  his  laughter 

Rang  mirthless  and  shrill  — 
"Who  art  thou  to  pass  judgment  upon  me  ? 

I  do  as  I  will! 


The  "  In  vain  shall  thy  great  Disenchanter 

Brothers  His  will  on  me  lay ! ' ' 

And  he  gather' d  his  raiment  about  him, 
And  hasten' d  away. 

To  the  life  he  had  lov'd  ? — Nay;  henceforward 

His  doom  had  been  seal'd; 
For  his  ways  were  the-  ways  of  the  satyr, 

And  the  beasts  of  the  field! 

And  he  that  was  left  in  the  desert 

Wept  tears  of  despair; 
And  not  for  himself,  but  his  brother, 

He  wrestled  in  prayer!    • 


Quatrains 


QUATRAINS 

THE    PLAY 

?  T"1  IS  well  that  youth  and  love  should  have  their 

1        day, 

Filling  the  stage  with  music  and  with  magic. 
Let  us  laugh  loudly  while  we  can  —  the  play 
In  the  fifth  act  is  sure  to  turn  to  tragic. 

BREEZE    AND    GALE 

THAT  very  breeze  which  brought  me  the  sweet 
strains 

From  distant  Arcady,  that  summer  day, 
Had  grown  a  gale  which  howl'd  across  the  plains 
Ere  night,  and  swept  my  music  all  away. 

LANCELOT    AND    ELAINE 

NOT  that  she  died.     Dear  child!  for  such  a  life, 
For  such  a  love,  what  meeter  end  could  be  ? 
But  that  he  liv'd,  torn  through  with  mortal  strife, 
A  wreck  of  manhood  —  such  the  tragedy ! 

THE    BUILDING 

STONE  upon  stone !   How  little  each  one  shows ! 
Yet  day  by  day  slowly  the  building  grows. 
And  he  who  puts  but  one  stone  into  line 
Helps  to  work  out  the  Master's  vast  design. 


55 


Quatrains  PAST    AND    PRESENT 

THIS  same  day's  actions  will  to-morrow  be 
Part  of  thy  heritage  of  memory. 
Think  well,  how  much  each  present,  at  the  last, 
Of  good  or  evil  draws  from  out  the  past ! 


MARY'S    CRY 

O   WO  MAN'S  cry  of  love  and  sore  despair, 
Echo'd  how  oft  in  this  our  later  day: — 
"My  dear  Lord,  they  have  taken  him  away! 
They  have  laid  my  Lord,  the  Christ,  I  know  not 
where!" 


To    TENNYSON 

MASTER  and  Friend!     Not  mine  to  bring  to 
thee 

The  tribute  of  the  critic's  formal  praise. 
Part  of  the  sacred  music  of  my  days 
Thy  song  hath  been,  and  evermore  will  be. 

THE    CALIPH'S    TOWER 

IV-NOWLEDGE!  — who    boasts  ?— Does    not 

IX.     the  story  tell 

How  the  great  Caliph  built  his  tower  in  vain  ? 

The  Heavens  were  still  as  inaccessible 

As  to  the  lowly  dwellers  on  the  plain! 


REALISM  Quatrains 

OBSCENE  imaginings  —  gibbering  shapes  im 
pure — 

The  refuse  of  the  gutter  and  the  sewer: — 
With  these  the  dreary  unclean  page  is  rife. 
And  the  great  artist  tells  us  —  this  is  life. 


To  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 

MASTER,  to  thee  our  love  and  praise  belong, 
That,  in  these  days  of  sordid  circumstance, 
Thou  still  could*  st  sing  the  old  heroic  song, 

Thou  still  hadst  faith  in  things  of  high  romance. 


IRONY 

IT  stood  a  hundred  years,  a  lonely  giant, 
'Mid  summer  lightnings,  winter  storms,  defiant. 
One  hush'd  night  came  a  crash;  and  morning  found 
The  proud  tree  stretch' d  in  ruin  on  the  ground. 


"THE    COMPLEAT    ANGLER*' 

NO  angler  I;  yet  o'er  thy  pastoral  page, 
Walton!    in  sooth  full  well  I  love  to  pore. 
It  breathes  the  old-world  peace  we  know  no  more 
In  the  mad  rush  and  tumult  of  our  age. 


57 


Quatrains  THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

SAYS  Science:   "Lo,  I  lift  the  veil.     Behold!  " 
But  when  we  turn,  with  eyes  that  almost  fail, 
Before  the  Face  in  darkness  from  of  old 
Shrouded,  there  hangs  a  yet  unlifted  veil. 


AT  EARLY  MORN 

THIS  is  the  hour  when  I  would  feel  a  thrill 
Of  joy  from  beauty  never  to  be  born. 
What  summer  day  did  ever  yet  fulfil 
The  dainty  promise  of  its  early  morn  ? 


To  A  SCIENTIFIC  FRIEND 

VfOURS  is  a  gospel  for  the  strong  and  bold. 

1        But  where  shall  one  o'erladen  and  oppress' d 
Turn  now  to  hear  those  gentle  words  of  old:  — 
"  Come  unto  me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest "  ? 


CRISIS 

A  HALF-REPLY  to  some  half-utter' d  phrase — 
A  light  word  spoken  more  than  half  in  jest; 
And  now  I  know  that  there,  for  worst  or  best, 
I  reach' d  a  sudden  parting  of  the  ways! 


THE  SEPULCHRE  Quatrains 

SOME,  with  a  careless  glance,  pass  on;  and  some 
Hither  with  ribald  jest  and  laughter  come. 
From  these  apart,  my  silent  hour  I  keep. 
Knowing  my  loss,  I  bow  my  head,  and  weep. 


FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

SHALL  I    not   laugh,    when    there    is    merry 
laughter  ? 

When  there  is  mirth,  shall  I  enjoy  it  not  ? 
Even  though  I  know  that  there  will  follow  after 
The  silence  that  must  close  each  human  lot! 


CARPE  DIEM 

LIVE  while  you   live.      Life  calls   for  all  your 
powers ; 

This  instant  day  your  utmost  strength  demands. 
He  wastes  himself  who  stops  to  watch  the  sands, 
And,  miser-like,  hoard  up  the  golden  he 

B  R  A 


59 


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OC1 


50m-7,'16 


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A 


